I KNOW SHE WILL
BE OUTWARD BOUND,
ONCE THE SHOCK OF
ANOTHER LIFE
FINDS A TAP
FROM MOTHER EARTH,
SHE WILL MAKE
HER WAY AND FLY
MINUS THE
TORN WING
LEFT IN THE TRAP
OF A SPIDER,
HE WILL NOT BE
HAPPY WITH A
FAILED DINNER,
I SMILE AS
I CLOSE THE
WINDOW AGAINST
THE WIND,
WAITING TO SEE
SOME ACTION,
IT MAY TAKE SOME
TIME AND TRACTION,
I WONDER IF SHE
WILL SURVIVE,
GROW ANOTHER WING
AS SOME DO,
OR LIMP ALONG
REGARDLESS
BRAVELY GRABBING A
BREEZE, SHE WILL
BE AT EASE IN
A BEAUTIFUL SUNSET,
AND FIND A POD
WAITING IN THE IVY,
HOME FOR THE
DURATION, THE
FIRST AID STATION
OF THE HEART,
WHILE I KNOW
I HAVE DONE SOMETHING
GOOD TODAY,
A TINY SPARK IN THE
SCHEME OF THINGS,
MAY WE ALL HELP
TO FIND ANOTHER WING
FOR THE CREATURES
WE CHERISH,
SURROUNDING US IN
THE BRILLIANCE OF
A PLANET TORN ASUNDER,
THE WONDER OF LOVE
REMAINS.
©J.W. WINSLOW 10/1/14

WHERE ROCK STARS
ABIDE AND THERE’S
NO PLACE TO HIDE,
THE STANDS WERE
PACKED FOR THE
FINAL ATTACK,
THE PRESENCE OF BECK
PLAYING NECK AND NECK
WITH THE SWAYING DIRT
CROWD, AND EVER SO LOUD
THAT IN THE END HE
BURNED OUR EARS
AND FANS DEPARTED WITH
SAVVY AND TEARS,
SO NOT TO SAY
THAT HE LOVED THE TOWN
OR THE FABULOUS MUSIC
THAT SEEMED TO ABOUND,
OR THE TV SHOW
WHERE HE WATCHED
ME WORK, IN THAT
CALM LITTLE WAY
WHICH DRIVES ME
BERZERK,
BUT WHEN IT WAS
FINISHED,
AND THE LIGHTS
WENT DOWN
WE HEADED HOME
TO THE HIGHER
GROUND,
AND IN THE END
HE DID WHAT
HE WAS WISHING,
HE PACKED UP
HIS BAGS
AND JUST
WENT FISHING!

©J.W. WINSLOW 9/1/14

WILL ALL
BE FINE,
YOU’RE BACKED UP
YOU’RE COVERED
SCARED SHITLESS
YOU HOVER
AND PACE,
THE NINETEEN NEW
CHAPTERS, WRITTEN
WITH LOVE,
THE HUNDREDS OF
OF PAGES
AND SLOVENLY
RAGES,
THE CHARACTERS
NEW AND OLD,
SEXY, SILLY
STRONG AND BOLD,
AND WHAT ABOUT
THE TV GUESTS
ALL THE WORDS
AT YOUR BEHEST,
THEIR ANSWERS STORED
IN THIS DEAD MACHINE
THE TECH GRAVEYARD
OF BROKEN DREAMS,
YOU WAIT, YOU SWEAT
YOU CRY, YOU BET
THAT EVERYONE IS WRONG
IT WILL BE
THE WORST SAD SONG,
WHEN FINALLY THE LIGHT
SHINES FLASHING AND BRIGHT,
THERE WILL BE A WAY
TO SAVE THE DAY,
IT’S NOT THE END OF
THE WORLD,
I CRAWL FROM MY CRISIS
AND SLOWLY UNCURL
A BRAIN THAT HAS SEEMINGLY
DEVELOPED A YEN
FOR THAT CRAZY MACHINE
INSTEAD OF A PEN,
SO IF I HAVE TO
I’LL START AGAIN,
OH, MY GOD,
PLEASE TELL ME,
WHEN?©J.W. WINSLOW 8/1/14

lest we forget the
parties and teas, under
fragrant flowering trees,
the dinners and lunches
and meetings,
each intricate cloth
was ruffled with froth
and folded away
in the season,
I saw Nana’s tables
with flowers and lace,
my mother and father
married in grace,
sexy black napkins
from a dinner of love
ornate rings, turtle doves,
tassles bound with
formal patterns
and tiny napkins
slightly tattered,
all with a scent
of lavender, saved
for my eyes to see,
Christmas in shiny red
and green squares
bound up and waiting
for the next family,
I had carried this home
unable to part
with a glorious show
and piece of my heart,
so I fondled the soft
rows of tablecloths,
Starchy old pieces
Set in a bundle
of soft ancient
creases, the morning
grew long and slipped
away, while I finished
my song of memory play,
and now it is done, all
neat and preserved,
I open the door and smile,
and it will be there
for me to share, my
very own family tree
the ecstacy of
wondrous care,
behind the door
right before
you reach the top
of the stairs!
©J.W. WINSLOW 6/1/14

things change
shit happens
I get that,
but all at once,
leaves me
skewed like
a dunce:
head swirling
the cameras
have switched
over to hi def,
low light on
the theater stage
broken guitar
strings, my
heart brings it
home, alone,
butterball fluffs
on the trees
months early,
no stress,
all access to
everyone, but
nobody’s home,
they are out
searching for
themselves
too,
the HUMAN
ZOO
comes to order,
south of the
border: RELEASE.
©J.W. WINSLOW 5/1/14